Author's note: Apparently several stories didn't upload correctly yesterday. I have no idea what happened. At least I'm not alone. Did you all have problems with seeing the update?

And thanks to the reader who alerted me that my chapter didn't work either. Because, for some reason, I didn't think about checking my own story, even though I saw the problems other stories had. Oh well...

I don't own anything, please review.

John didn't say anything. He simply allowed Donavan to cuff him. The Sergeant was apparently happy to do so; then again, she probably thought that this arrest (and therefore the murder he had committed) was simply a consequence of living with Sherlock Holmes.

She had warned John at the first crime scene he had ever visited; had told him that Sherlock didn't have friends and to get another, safer hobby. At the time, it had taken all his willpower not to tell her that Sherlock wasn't the one who deserved to be put in jail; now he didn't have to. She knew, soon everyone would know. Why had he ever let Anderson see his gun?

Sherlock wasn't taking his arrest quite so well.

"This is ridiculous, Lestrade, he is not resisting, why does he have to wear cuffs..."

"Sherlock, please. We have evidence tying him to a murder. We have to..." Greg seemed genially sorry, but naturally, the consulting detective didn't acknowledge it, and Donavan standing beside John looking smug probably didn't help. For a moment, John was afraid Sherlock would hit Greg and lose the one friend he had left now that Moran had had him arrested, but then his best friend bit his lip and suddenly looked like a lost child.

"Greg" he said, and it was not difficult to understand why the DI seemed taken aback, Sherlock never really having called him by his first name before. "Greg, you have to..."

"I'm sorry Sherlock" Greg interrupted, apparently realizing that Sherlock would soon say something that would maybe give Donavan cause to arrest him. For once, the consulting detective seemed to listen, because he followed them down the stairs without another word.

Mrs. Hudson was waiting for them in front of their flat.

"What's going on? I – " she saw John and her eyes widened. "John? Why are you wearing handcuffs?"

He smiled sadly. "I have been arrested, Mrs. Hudson" he answered as calmly as he could and tried to ignore the shock in his landlady's – no, ex-landlady's, from this day on he wouldn't be living at 211B anymore – face. Of course Mrs. Hudson wouldn't believe it, and she would certainly never believe in his guilt, not even if he were to confess in front of her.

And then, and only then, did he suddenly understand what had happened.

Moran had won.

John had been living the life he hadn't deserved, but nonetheless loved for months; he had found himself a best friend, a fulfilling if rather strange job, a family, and now the sniper had taken all this from him. And John would be spending the rest of his days (or, at the very least, a very long time) in prison, always knowing what had passed him by, constantly fearing for the lives for everyone who meant something to him.

It was the perfect revenge.

Unless...

Unless John escaped, but Sherlock would certainly insist on coming with him, and he wouldn't be able to protect the consulting detective if they were both fugitives.

John hated himself for the realization that, despite everything, he would still prefer a life with Sherlock in danger than they being separated and Sherlock safe.

The consulting detective, as it turned out, had no such scruples.

All in all, John should have foreseen it; as soon as they had started to walk down the stairs, Sherlock had fallen silent, and Mrs. Hudson suddenly went back into her flat and shut the door, which could only be a reaction to a signal from "her boy".

And Sherlock was walking behind Greg.

Just before they reached the door, John heard a cry (a suspiciously quiet cry, though) from the DI and turned around to find Greg on the floor, holding his head, which Sherlock standing above him, the DI's gun in his hand pointing at Donavan, who was too stunned to say or do anything.

"John, we are leaving".

John took one look at Sherlock's face and knew that any protest would be useless. He did, however, his best to look as shocked as Donavan and to act like a hostage, which, since Sherlock had by now stepped over to him and was pointing the gun at his head, was clearly what the consulting detective wanted.

Donavan and Greg had only brought one police car, thank God, and Sherlock pointed the gun at the driver while dragging John behind him (the doctor wishing he would at least grab his wrist and not the handcuffs).

"Time to go, John" Sherlock said quietly, "Ready?"

"When you are."

And then they were running along the street, Donavan screaming after them. But even the Sergeant had too much sense to shoot after them – they were, after all, not a threat anymore.

"What now?" John managed to ask just as Sherlock led him into a thankfully empty side street. "We are on the run and these certainly don't help".

At least his hands had been cuffed in front of his body which made running a little easier, but he would rather prefer to have them off – he was bound to attract attention wherever he went.

His best friend didn't answer, focused on getting them as quickly as possible far away from Baker Street.

Until he had seen Mrs. Hudson's face, he hadn't even known he was going to free John. He had been busy thinking over every possible scenario, wondering how fast Mycroft could break his doctor out of jail –

And then he had seen the shock in Mrs. Hudson's eyes, and had realized he wouldn't be able to stand the thought of John behind bars, even if for a night. Letting him get into the car would mean giving up on the man who had saved his life, and Sherlock couldn't do that. No matter what happened.

He was rather sure (although he wasn't good at reading people's emotions, but he could always ask John later, when they were safe) that Lestrade had rather exaggerated his head injury (if there even was one; somehow he hadn't been able to bring himself to hit his DI too hard) and he had certainly not fought much for his weapon. And he hadn't wanted to arrest John, that much was clear. So at least there was one policeman who was on their side; he should talk to Mycroft as soon as he had the chance, his brother would find a way to arrange that Lestrade coordinated the search for them...

After a while, Sherlock stopped running, after having looked around and decided that they had come far enough, for the time being. Plus, John definitely needed to catch his breath; despite his protests during the last few months, the doctor had been shot in the chest and still wasn't as healthy as he used to be. Which was another reason why they needed a safe place to stay.

"So... what... now?" John panted, leaning against a wall behind him. Once again, he cursed Moran; why couldn't he have got another bullet in the shoulder?

"My..croft?"

"No, at least not in daylight" Sherlock answered, his eyes searching the street to make sure no one had noticed them. "If anyone saw us – anyone who isn't on Mycroft's pay roll, that is – and it came out that he was hiding fugitives, he wouldn't be able to help us anyway".

John nodded and hid a smile. Sherlock might say that he didn't care for Mycroft, but no one could tell him that the consulting detective was merely thinking of himself and John when he wished to protect Mycroft's position.

"Good. Where then?"

"Not two blocks from here there's an abandoned building members of my homeless network use frequently. We are safe there; I don't think anyone will be in at this time of the day, and even if they were, they wouldn't call the police".

"Are you sure?" John asked as he slowly followed Sherlock, walking behind the consulting detective to hide the handcuffs as well as he could.

"Never bites the hand that feeds you, John".

"And I thought you'd always treated Mycroft they way you do now."

"I did. But I am not exactly the rule, John". He could hear the half-smirk he knew so well in the consulting detective's voice and stifled a ridiculous urge to laugh. A crazy ex-army sniper was after his best friend, he had just fled after being arrested for murder (a murder he had actually committed), they were going to hide in an abandoned building homeless people usually hung out in, and he felt utterly relaxed, in fact, happy.

If this meant that he was mad – so be it. He couldn't imagine life without Sherlock, even if it meant leaving the country with him.

They arrived at the building without any problems (even though John thought a few people had noticed his handcuffs – but, since no one said anything, they probably believed he and Sherlock were living out a weird fetish) and Sherlock set to work on John's handcuffs. Within a few minutes, he had opened them.

"You couldn't do that before because..." John wanted to know, rubbing his wrists.

"Because we couldn't risk standing still long enough, John."

Sherlock darted out of the room and John guessed that he was checking whether anyone else was in the building. He was right, because Sherlock came back not long after, shaking his head.

"So" John said, "What now?"

"Now" Sherlock replied, very slowly, as if he thought John was an imbecile simply for asking that question, "we bring down Moran".

John couldn't help it; he laughed. "Of course. But how?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I have come to the conclusion that I shouldn't have spent all this time looking for Moran, but rather for clues". When John looked at him, not comprehending, Sherlock elaborated. "Moran has committed several crimes, correct?"

"Yes, although I think "several" might be an understatement."

"Exactly. And who do we now who knows a good deal about some of them because he witnessed what Moran did?"

John's eyes widened and he cursed. "Of course! I can tell you about..."

"I know, John. So, we are going to investigate each of these crimes and see if we can trace them back to Moran..."

John understood. "Then we would have leverage".

Sherlock nodded. "Exactly. So, let's begin with the first time you ever treated someone Moran told you about..."

And, as John once again told his story, a fugitive, a murderer and the only friend of a high-functioning sociopath, he couldn't help but notice one thing – he had never felt more safe in his life.

Author's note: Bromance – hiding with a self-declared high-functioning sociopath in an abandoned building and planning how to bring down the most dangerous criminal in London – and being actually relaxed during the conversation. Oh, how I love these two.

I have always loved Lestrade's reaction to their daring escape in "The Reichenbach Fall" – really, if anything, he looks annoyed. And he doesn't seem very keen on finding them – so I had to address this somehow. Because he's lovely.

I hope you liked it, please review.